


A Third Something

by dicks



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: 1859, 8059, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicks/pseuds/dicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shit Happened Sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Third Something

(they kissed once when they were seventeen, thirteen hours after yamamoto made his first kill; it was a chaste, silent kiss that shook the foundation of gokudera’s world right underneath the soles of his feet. sometime after that, between cigarettes, gokudera wondered in disbelief why, why and why and if it meant anything at all, anything at all)

 

 Gokudera finds Yamamoto in the kitchen, making tea.

 “Your tea always tasted like Uri’s piss, I don’t get why you even bother.” But he takes the cup anyway before sitting down. “Why are we drinking this shit? I don’t even know.”

 “Evening Gokudera.” Yamamoto greets simply, a little too chirpy in Gokudera’s ears.

 He looks away. “Fuck you.”

 

(they fucked for the first time right after a mission, with blood bruising on their clothes and it was hibari who first tugged gokudera by his elbow, blunt nails digging painfully on his fresh new wound that had sent gokudera cursing loudly before sealing their lips together. they barely made it to the car and there were bodies to dispose of and later that night it was gokudera who slipped into hibari’s room seeming as if he was lost and hibari only smirked, eyes demanding and gokudera felt like he was probably lost in either way and they fucked again for the second time and third time and the fourth time it happened, they didn’t even bother with excuses)

 

So tea is forgotten and they quickly move to scotch. Never mind the fact that neither of them has been a good drinker, never mind the fact that both of them would end up lamenting over it the next morning.

Shit happened sometimes.

“You—”

But it is too easy to blame it on the alcohol later. Too fucking easy, that it makes Gokudera wants to spew his innards just thinking about it. He pours another shot of Johnnie Walker; no ice this time because the whole point about drinking is just to get drunk. A quick getaway. He takes a sip and then another and another until there’s no more left. “You—” he repeats, licking his lips; some of the amber liquid dribbles down his chin.

“What about me?”

“Stop laughing at me, dumbass. Every. God. Damn. Time-”

“But—" Yamamoto chuckles, “-but you never cease to amuse me, Gokudera.”

“I’m not your personal comedian.”

“Life _is_ a comedy.”

“ _This_ isn’t a game.”

“Only if _you_ stop playing.”

“Then you’re stupid,” Gokudera scoffs. He leans forward, squinting slightly, “Tell me, what would happen if the universe stopped laughing with you?”

 A stretch of silence. Yamamoto’s laughter has long gone and Gokudera needs another drink.

“I think it already did.” Yamamoto says finally, inaudibly. “I think it already did.”

Gokudera pours himself another shot of scotch.

 

(still, there were moments where gokudera thought he might even consider yielding. such moments, stupid little imbecilic moments- yamamoto walking in, still sleepy and hair all over the place, smiling the same smile he used to wear on his face when they were fifteen, innocent with a little less pretense, real. gokudera felt it right then, the incredible amount of wants that made something in his chest tightened, right then, over and over again - _what were you thinking then?_ \- so much had changed after that)

 

“Tell you a secret,” Gokudera lights his cigarette. “I even contemplated joining the boxing club once just to get turf head to lay off Tenth.”

 “You’re incredible,” Yamamoto laughs. “Tell me another secret—”

 Gokudera snorts.

 “—something ridiculous, something you don’t want me to know.”

 

(they never talked about it. yamamoto had once -under too much influence of alcohol- told him that they were fucked up, that gokudera was fucked up and gokudera had believed him, so he never talked about it)

 

 Gokudera stares at Yamamoto who stares back at _him_ , desperately. It is like looking into a mirror.

 “Yamamoto, I—” but Yamamoto was right. The game isn’t over unless they stop playing.

 

 (he wanted him, he wanted him, he wanted him, he wanted him, he wanted him, he needed him—)

 

“I love sushi.” Gokudera breathes.

 Yamamoto compels watching the smoke as it dissipates into the thin air.

Shit happened sometimes.

-

 Hibari taps his fingers lightly on the dresser, but loud enough for Gokudera to cast him a glare that makes him actually seems somewhat battered rather than threatening before scowling and turning his back to undoing his shirt.

“You’re late.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“You’re drunk.”

“I fucking hate you.”

“Keep saying that to yourself.”

“No, I really hate you,” Gokudera retorts, working on the buckle of his pants, “—you and your draconian notion of discipline, your political view, your awful taste in music, the way you button up your shirt- you sick prick, don’t you ever get it? Normal people button their shirt from _up to bottom_ not the other way around.”

“I don’t listen to music.”

“Exactly.”

“And I’m not _normal_ people.”

“Of course you’re not. You’re one miserable fucktard.”

 

(even in catania yamamoto’s presence lingered- _what the fuck are you, twelve? okay, okay, stop asking me that, idiot. tell tenth i’ll be back the day after tomorrow. what the hell was that about? of course not—_ gokudera threw his phone on the bed, continuing drying his hair. hibari caught the phone before it bounced onto the floor, flipped it open and then switched it off)

 

 “So why then,” Hibari asks, “Do you keep coming over?” There’s a sharp cold edge to his voice.

 “Because I’m miserable too,” Gokudera says as he crawls over Hibari on the bed. “—because you don’t need me.”

 -

There are so many ways of getting hurt; like watching Gokudera’s back as he slips into Hibari’s room, and then there are times where Yamamoto wonders what might happen if the cracks underneath his pseudo smiles show, if he stops holding back, if he dares to steal kisses behind the closed door. Would it be _his_ room instead, would there be less sleepless nights, would they stop dancing around each other and just _be_?

 He takes a step back.

 

(and he laughed, and he draped his arm across his shoulders, and he watched him – _look at me_ \-  and he wanted him, he wanted him, he wanted him, he wanted him, he wanted him, he needed him—)

 

Yamamoto steps backward, backward, out from the hall, out from the mansion, out. He wishes he can undo the things he did, unsee what he had seen, unknow the things he has come to know; push the little black rewind button and turn back time.

Unfeel the things he feels.

 

(they kissed once when they were seventeen, thirteen hours after yamamoto made his first kill; it was a chaste, silent kiss and yamamoto could swear he was soaring towards the sky. sometime after that yamamoto couldn’t help fingering his lips and wondered if it meant anything at all. anything at all)

 

 In his heart, something breaks.

 -

_I hate and I love. Why do I do this, you perhaps ask. I do not know, but I feel it happening and am tormented. -[Catullus](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catullus) [85](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catullus_85)_


End file.
